James Finbarr ‘Barry’ Cullen, a consultant ophthalmologist at the Royal Edinburgh Infirmary, was one of the great names in ophthalmology, though he would never have thought that of himself. He was born in Cavan, Ireland, on 13 July 1928, the son of Bernard Thomas ‘Bertie’ Cullen, a GP, and Maura Cullen née Martin, a housewife who had studied at University College Galway. He had an older brother, Brian, who became a monk and eventually abbot of Glenstal Abbey. Barry was educated at Glenstal Abbey School in Limerick, and then studied medicine at University College Dublin, qualifying in 1952. After the obligatory registration year, he moved to the Royal Victoria Eye and Ear Hospital in Dublin as a house surgeon and then on to Moorfields in London as a junior clinical assistant. He later went to Newcastle as a registrar in the department of ophthalmology at the Royal Victoria Infirmary and as a senior house officer in the department of neurosurgery at Newcastle General Hospital. In 1960 he gained his fellowship of the Royal College of Surgeons of England. Then followed a year at the Wilmer Eye Institute at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore with Frank Walsh – a pioneer of neuro-ophthalmology. This not only drew him into the mysteries of the eye-brain nexus, but also gave him an interest that would absorb him for the next 60 years. On his return to the UK, his new skill made him the chosen candidate, despite strong local opposition, for the post of senior lecturer in Edinburgh, working with George Scott. With the new Eye Pavilion due to open in 1969, the timing was perfect for the professor to entrust Barry with planning and selecting the equipment. This he did, but, in his view, there was more to a first-class unit than instruments: the junior doctors were of even greater importance. He wanted them to be trained and not just left to absorb the subject by simply being in the department. The most junior doctors were therefore relieved of commitments in the clinics for six months in their first year. And Friday afternoons were given over to teaching sessions, which are still a sacrosanct end to the hospital week. For the nurses, he realised that by promoting Edinburgh as *the* centre for the ophthalmic nursing diploma, he would attract the best who, once trained, might be persuaded to remain. His concern stretched beyond the health care staff to include anyone who worked in the hospital. Barry bubbled with enthusiasm: most exchanges being punctuated with a chuckle, which would often turn into something more like a cackle. He talked rapidly, the words just tumbling out. His ceaseless thinking was always about how things could be done better and he saw plainly what others did not: that certain ocular disorders were too complicated to be left in general hands. The standard approach to undergraduate teaching from my own experience had been to bombard students with ophthalmo-babble as a simulation of knowledge, then attempt to turn them into specialists in about two weeks. Barry’s technique was to show them there was more to ophthalmology than pretending to see something with the direct ophthalmoscope. The result was a flow of the better graduates into the specialty. The message spread to the Far East, the Middle East, Africa and Europe, and trainees came from all over the world. The hospital they found was, despite the permanent shortage of funds, fully equipped with the latest technology, for Barry was always one step ahead of the game, anticipating the need for the latest instrument long before the lack of it had become the subject of aggrieved discussion elsewhere. As a result, Edinburgh was the first centre in the UK outside London to have an argon laser. Barry’s clinics were, as might be guessed, the most active of all and generally conducted in an atmosphere of anxiety-soothing bonhomie. The action would occupy every spare bit of space. The patient was the centre of attention amidst a cloud of medical students, trainees, opticians and staff in search of a decision, with Barry here, there and everywhere. In his chosen field he was supreme, reserving a tolerant amusement for those who could not come to any intra-cranial conclusion before they had first deployed complicated radiology (and indeed frequently after), when he would then provide them with a diagnosis over the telephone made purely from the history. Despite the pressing demands for his special neuro-ophthalmology expertise, he still found time for other interests, including the correction of drooping eyelids in children, the reconstruction of the cornea and diabetic eye disease. His paper identifying the relationship between temporal arteritis and ischaemic optic neuropathy was a seminal contribution to the prevention of irreversible visual loss, and he made multiple other contributions to the major journals, the last as recent as 2019. He was editor of the journal *Eye News.* He played a vital role as an ambassador furthering the interests of the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh, helping to set up joint examinations with Singapore, Malaysia and Hong Kong. In recognition of his efforts, the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh awarded him its highest honour, their gold medal, in addition to an honorary fellowship. He acquired many other such accolades over his career. When he retired in in 1994, his unique contribution to Edinburgh was recognised at a dinner that filled the great hall of the Royal College of Surgeons. He was subsequently invited to Singapore for two years and stayed for 17. The department of neuro-ophthalmology, which he created from scratch at the Singapore National Eye Centre, has become a celebrated referral unit. The Centre has honoured Barry by creating the Barry Cullen international fellowship to fund and foster sub-specialty training, and in Edinburgh a biannual lecture has been established in his name. Outside medicine, he was seriously competent at the bridge table and on the golf course (he set up the Scottish Ophthalmologists Golfing Society). His death from cardiac ischaemia on 23 September 2020 at the age of 92 was shockingly swift but peaceful and it spared him distress and the infirmities of his advancing years. He was survived by a very close family – Ann (née Black), whom he married in 1954, their children, Paul, Stephen, David, Peter, Sally and 11 grandchildren. Barry Cullen was a titan in our profession, a man deeply principled, beloved and respected by all who knew him. He was far too humble to imagine himself of any great consequence: on that point he was wrong.